


One Thousand Years of Dying

by dominobeck



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dominobeck/pseuds/dominobeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif always thought there would be time to fix what she and Loki had broken. Now time has run out, and her brother has some very bad news about the secret she never should have kept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Marvel, not I, own the characters and universe.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** This is the first story I've written in years that has moved beyond the research-the-hell-out-of-it-and-write-copious-outline phase. And it's the first story I've posted somewhere in even longer. Any feedback is greatly, greatly appreciated.

He was gone.

Loki was gone, and the "someday" Sif had always expected would come would now never arrive. Things were undone between them, and now they would remain ragged and coarse for all time.

She had run when she should have stayed, and he had held himself apart when he should have held her.

How many times had she avoided him? Skirted him and the mess they had made? How many times had he turned away when she had looked at him, an apology half on her lips?

Sif had always thought there would be time to fix the hurt, time to repair everything they had smashed to bits.

After all, they were gods. Sif and Loki had had all the time in the world.

But he was gone.

"He fell," Thor had said simply.

Sif had sucked in a breath, the sudden stab of anguish momentarily stunning her. Thor's lips had kept moving, but she heard nothing more.

"He fell," echoed in her head. "He fell."

Thor had closed his eyes, and Sif was gone before he could reopen them.

She had fled to her rooms in the palace – apartments she had not stayed in since everything had fallen apart.

She was surprised they were still there, everything exactly where she had left it.

The heavy wardrobes were full of gowns she had rarely worn – heavy fabrics of crimson and gold and sky blue chosen by her mother that were thoroughly useless for running, fighting and anything practical.

Her mother had never accepted that she had chosen to be a goddess of war and not a goddess of the earth who could someday be queen. But Sif had been drawn to a different path since the hour her brother had gifted her a sword that felt so right it seemed an extension of her.

Loki's eyes had always shone with amusement when she wore those gowns to dinner, stiff and awkward with too much fabric falling around her.

He had so enjoyed slipping them off her, leaving pools of cloth forgotten at their feet, although he had once told her that he loved the sight of her in armor more.

They had been happy here. They had created life here.

Sif ached at the memory of the last time she had spoken with him. It had been about one of the things that always lay between them, and he had worn betrayal in his eyes. She had been angry with him, and he with her. He had never liked it when Sif defended Thor, and she now wondered if she had made things between the brothers worse by asking Loki to end his banishment.

Thor was a touchy subject, a sore point they always avoided addressing. He and his impulsiveness had gotten her into trouble more often than not, but she was ever loyal to him.

And it did not help that so many still refused to see her as a goddess of war, assuming that a woman's devotion to a man could only reflect a desire for marriage.

Did Loki believe that as well? It would explain much.

Sif sat down in the heavy, uncomfortable chair before her vanity, her fingers trailing across the objects scattered haphazardly across the surface as if she had only left the suite that morning.

The lid to her jewelry box laid ajar, various earrings and necklaces winking in the fading sunlight that peeked through the heavy curtains.

She had a memory for each and every piece. The heavy emerald bracelet - Loki had fastened it to her wrist on the morning after their first night together. The pair of black pearl earrings with swirls of green and purple - he had left them on her vanity the night after she had single-handedly defended an Asgardian outpost from a dark elf incursion. The opal suspended by a delicate, shining chain - he had clasped it around her neck the day she told him she knew what he had already suspected.

The comb Loki had brought her from Svartalfaheimr still lay there, exactly where she had tossed it when she had stormed in, grabbed her armor and left.

Would things have been different if she had just worn it?

She had been so frightened when her hair had bled dark, so afraid that everyone would discover what they had hid.

"I will fix this, my Lady Sif," Loki had whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

He had been gone for a fortnight before returning with the comb, his face tight and drawn. It would have cost him much; the price for Thor's hammer had already been almost too much to bear.

Sif shakily pulled her tresses loose and placed the comb in her hair, watching it fade into a shining gold she hardly remembered anymore.

It just didn't look right on her. And today, right now, Sif liked the reminder that she had once been so closely linked to Loki.

She had been young and stupid. She had ruined everything. They both had, and the one person they loved best had paid for it.

* * *

Sif's mouth went dry at the sight of the jagged remains of the Bifrost.

She knew it was gone; she had felt it shatter when she and the Warriors Three had taken her brother to the healers. Her sword had grown lighter as the magic was ripped out of it, and the accompanying wrench had forced her to her knees. She had lost her vision in a white haze for several moments, a blinding shock pulling at her. Her brother, already weakened and far more strongly tied to the rainbow bridge, had stopped breathing for several terrifying minutes.

But Sif had not left her rooms until the the banquet earlier, unwilling to face Thor or anyone else. She had forced herself to attend to avoid the resulting questions. She did not want to have to explain why she mourned a traitor.

At dinner, Sif had let a smile touch her lips at all of the appropriate times and said all the right things.

It was a victory celebration - Thor was home, and a devious plot had been undone. She and her companions had battled the Destroyer and returned to tell the tale.

But she felt as if she were watching herself from a far distance. She tasted nothing, and felt even less.

She knew Thor felt much the same and, from the distant vantage point by which she saw everything now, Sif worried for him.

Sif felt a kinship with him; he was the one person beside herself that mourned Loki.

Sif had not been able to meet the queen's eye when she offered her condolences. That was the problem with being a daughter of battle. Sif knew five different ways to assault a dwarven fortress with less than ten warriors and twenty different ways to deflect a sword strike from an enemy who was attacking from behind. But she did not know how to blank her eyes.

Frigga had no reason to mourn the son who had taken one son from her and then tried to take the other.

But her queen had surprised her. She worried for Thor but there was more to the sorrow and fatigue in her eyes. She looked *less* somehow, just as she had seemed diminished in some inexplicable way after her first son's accident.

She grieved for Loki, although she could show it no more than Sif could.

"You should see your brother," Frigga had told her.  
If she knew some particular reason why, she did not share it. Frigga kept the future close these days, ever since her attempt to mold what was to come had dramatically backfired with one of her son's tricks.

"My sister," Heimdall greeted her, reserved and opposing as ever.

He stood at the edge of what remained of the rainbow road, his eyes clouded with worlds only he could see.

"My brother," Sif said, moving to stand beside him.

She was silent for a long moment, suddenly shamed that had needed Frigga's reminder to see to her brother. As usual, she had been so lost in herself, she had forgotten her duty to all others.

Sif had left him at the healers hall after Thor came to her, and her brother deserved more of her attention than that. Loki had nearly killed Heimdall, and she had spent the time since mourning the loss of her brother's attacker.

"I am sorry, brother," she said softly.

"You are not responsible for his missteps," Heimdall chided her, as always, the all-knowing older brother exasperated by his little sister. "Just your own."

Sif swallowed hard at the rebuke. He was right. Heimdall had told Sif not to run away from her responsibilities, and now the reasons for it seemed so small and insignificant.

"Loki may not come back from this," Heimdall said quietly. "I believe him to be lost."

Sif nodded. Her brother would not lie to her, no matter how pleased he may be by the notion of Loki falling endlessly through the world tree. They had not liked one another, although both avoided the subject when asked.

"But that is not why I wished to see you," Heimdall continued.

His eyes swept across the horizon several times before he turned and focused on her face.

"I cannot find your daughter," he finally said. If he were someone else, Sif would have said he hesitated - but Heimdall never faltered.

Sif felt the universe still for a beat as her world dipped and spun for the second time in days.

"She is gone," Heimdall said softly. "Her home is cold and empty, and it is not like her to neglect her duties. I have not heard from her since Thor's banishment, and it is unlike her to stray from my sight for so long."

"Does she know?" Sif breathed, suddenly terrified. She tried shoving aside the panicky feeling spreading from her stomach, but unlike in battle, her emotions refused to cooperate. "About Loki and what has happened?"

It would be just like their daughter to rush in and try to save her father. She was remarkably like Thor in her ability to leap from impulse to action without pausing for thought or consideration in between.

It had always greatly irritated her father, nearly as much as it amused her mother. She was so unlike either of her parents, and Sif had always admired her daughter's ability seize what she wanted without a care for the consequences.

"I do not know," Heimdall said slowly. "I do not know what knowledge she has of Loki. I would not think he would confide in her."

Sif nodded in agreement. The one time Loki had drawn their daughter into one of his plots, it had so spectacularly disintegrated, the Aesir were a breath away from war.

Subtlety and discretion were not some of her daughter's stronger qualities.

"But she must know the Bifrost is no longer open, must have sensed it just as you and I did," Heimdall said. "She must know at least that much. She cannot leave her realm, unless she has acquired some of her father's tricks. But she is not there, and she does not answer when I call for her."

That worried Sif more than anything else her brother had said. Hela often called upon her uncle. Their tasks by necessity set them apart, and the two often relieved the isolation with chats that could last days. Sif herself had not visited in quite some time, since before the preparations for the ceremony appointing Thor heir.

And Sif knew what her brother had left unsaid.

If Loki had passed, their daughter would know.

The goddess of death always knew such things.


	2. Chapter 2

Sif was in the practice yard when she felt the gateway open.

She had been taking her frustrations out on Hogun the Grim - the only one of her friends still willing to be the target of her workouts. Sif was restless and frustrated, never a good state for a goddess of war.

Her patience was worn to a point. Her daughter was still missing, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Her brother still could not find Hela, and she never answered either one of them when they called for her.

And with the Bifrost shattered, Sif was trapped in Asgard. She had never realized how much she valued the freedom to come and go as she pleased until she could no longer do so.

But then she felt a familiar magic snake through and around her. She paused, drinking it in and nearly dropping her sword as it responded to the trickle of power, throwing her balance off.

She didn't even feel Hogun's mace sweep under her legs, felling her to the hard, damp ground. She stretched out to the magic, but it melted away before she could grasp onto it. She tried again, but there was just emptiness, as there had been every time since Thor had smashed the Bifrost.

"Sif?"

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring Hogun's quiet question - it was unlike her to take a hit and stay down for this long - eyes tracking in the direction of the rainbow bridge.

"Sif!"

As the sound of her brother's voice echoed in her head, she took off in that direction at a dead run, not bothering to gather the things she had lying against the wall.

"Please let it be Hela," Sif implored, hope flaring. "Please let her be safe."

She staggered to a stop outside the city, crushing disappointment dropping like a boulder atop her shoulders.

Thor was already there. The gateway she had felt was not for her.

Seeing the pure relief in Thor, Sif felt vaguely shamed - she was doing it again, wrapping herself in her own pain and shutting out everyone else's. Her friend clasped the petite Midgardian in his arms to his chest as if afraid she would vanish before his eyes, and Sif knew she should not begrudge him this happiness.

An older man she vaguely remembered from when she went to fetch Thor from his banishment was openly studying her with an uncomfortable familiarity. A shorter man, his eyes shadowed with some sort of flimsy, red faceguard, stood next to him, a curious metallic bow in one hand. He seemed at ease, but she felt his readiness sharpen into alertness at her rushed arrival. A man-sized Destroyer stood on the other side of the older man.

Any other time, Sif would have stared longer at that curious bow - how was it constructed? - or at the short Destroyer - when had another been constructed? - but a large box at Heimdall's feet yanked at her attention. She could feel a vibration running through her and through her brother, pulling her closer. Heimdall's sword was flickering with a harsh, blue-white light, and she could feel hers vibrating with the same rhythm.

Mesmerized, she reached out to the box -

"Careful," the older man said sharply, tugging her arm away from it.

Sif blinked, the man's hold on her wrist so recognizable. She had felt a grasp like it hundreds of times before. She looked up at him just in time to see a flick of something cross his eyes so quickly she could not quite tell if she had seen anything at all.

The man dropped her arm with a start, looking almost as startled as she felt.

"Sorry. Sif, isn't it?" the man said, and his voice was different. "But we may only have one charge left, and we need it get home."

She continued staring at him, searching for the spark she had sworn she saw, until he backed away clumsily, awkwardly blundering into the warrior with the bow behind him.

"Heimdall?"

Sif wrenched her gaze from the man and glanced at her brother, whose eyes were unfocused in the way he had when he was looking out beyond the Bifrost.

"Heimdall?"

Pushing aside the tempting hum of the box in front of them, Sif reached out for her brother's arm when he didn't answer.

Her vision swam as soon as her fingers touched his arm. The hum got louder and then…

She.

Was.

Falling.

Sif blinked once, twice, and then her eyes snapped into focus. She could see… Everything. Stars rushed toward her, gaining impossible brightness until they raced behind her.

She could see… She could see the twisting branches of Yggdrasill - they were paths, they were ways, some of them secret, some of them leading nowhere.

But before she could fully wrap them around her understanding, she saw a cold darkness. As it came into focus, she recognized it as Jotunheim, scores of frost giants battling one another in canyons and open fields.

Sif moved her eyes over, and then she saw her daughter's home. It, too, was cold and dark.

She moved her eyes up slightly, and suddenly there were people, so many people it made her head hurt. She blinked, her eyes blurring and then snapping into focus again.

And she saw Hela. She was in no place Sif had ever seen before. It was crowded and full of flashing lights and people gathered around small tables. Her daughter was laughing, her head thrown back, diamonds winking at her throat, as some sort of wheel spun on the table in front of her.

Sif opened her mouth to call to her daughter -

But something shook her, and she lost sight of her. She could see someplace different now; a city with rows and rows of tall, narrow structures that arched into the sky, full of people, so many people; then an open desert with nothing but sand that stretched to the horizon; then -

"Sif!"

She could hear her name, so faint, so far away.

"Sif!"

She ignored the voice, looking, searching, desperate. Hela, please, where -

"My Lady Sif!"

She abruptly felt herself yanked back to Asgard. She was no longer standing next to her brother - she was on the ground, and, oh, how she ached. The space between her eyes throbbed, and she felt as if she hadn't slept in days.

The older man who had arrived with the Lady Jane was shaking her by the shoulders. He lifted her chin up and tilted her head from side to side, looking anxiously at her eyes.

"Heimdall?" Sif breathed brokenly. "I saw her, Heimdall. It was incredible."

"My sister," Heimdall rumbled from beside her. "Forgive me. I did not -"

"Don't touch her," the Lady Jane's companion hissed, his arm snaking out to bat Heimdall's hand away before it could graze her hand.

Heimdall stiffened, but the mortal unwaveringly met his golden eyes.

"You could lose her," the man said warningly. "She can't control it like you can; it's too much for her."

"Please," Sif whispered. "I have to find her again. Brother -"

Despite all her aches, she began to sit up.

The man beside her chuckled under his breath, pushing at her shoulders until she again relaxed into the ground.

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek, a gesture so familiar it made her ache. She could feel sleep lapping at her, pushing its way to her and then pulling at her.

She knew this touch. She knew this magic.

"Loki?" Sif reached up blindly, fighting the unnatural sleep. Her fingers brushed rough facial hair, unfamiliar bone structure, but… "Loki," she sighed before the blackness finally claimed her.

* * *

Sif awakened slowly, the pounding her head reminding her of the time she had tried to match Volstagg drink for drink at a victory banquet.

Loki always came up with the worst dares. She had not been sober for two days, and had taken to her bed for another three after that.

Loki.

He had been here. She could smell his spicy scent as strongly as if he had just left her side even though she knew he had not been in Asgard in some time.

"Loki?" Sif half-whispered, unsure if she really wanted him to answer.

A candle winked on at her bedside, but blonde hair instead of dark melted from the darkness.

"You gave your brother quite a fright," Frigga said softly. "And my son, as well. I do not believe either of them have seen you fall in such a manner."

Sif reached out tentatively to where the magic in her sword should be. It rang a sour tune back at her, knocking the breath out of her.

"Now, now. None of that, Lady Sif. You need to rest. You do not have your brother's years at controlling the sight."

Sif lay back, for once obediently taking advice. That had truly hurt.

"Is that what he always sees? It was wondrous."

Frigga smiled at her warmly, gently wiping her face with a damp cloth.

"Yes, I believe so. And he took to it the first time no better than you did. Now rest."

"But -"

"The Lady Jane has not yet left. You have not yet missed anything. Sleep."

* * *

Several days later – at least, she thought so; Sif was still uncertain about the time – Frigga deemed her well enough to join Thor and the others in the library for a few hours.

The queen had been there every time Sif had awakened; she was unsure if she was there for her or to see if Loki would return. The more Sif thought on it, the more certain she became that he had been there. She distinctly remembered being yanked back by his voice and falling unconscious to one of his spells. But he did not return, and Sif did not want to know if it was because he chose not to see her or was avoiding his mother.

Sif quietly picked her way to the library, garbed in a simple black gown Frigga had found in the back of one of her wardrobes. The stark color made her look even paler, but Sif could not face tripping around in one of the more ornate garments she still had not bothered to get rid of, and wearing any armor was simply out of the question until she regained some strength.

She smiled faintly at the noise coming from the Allfather's library. She had always loved the cavernous room full of tomes in impossibly tall bookcases that stretched past eyesight. Loki had always preferred the library in Vanaheimr, but she suspected his longing for the knowledge resulted from the Vanir greatly restricting his access.

When she was younger, Sif had spent numerous long afternoons with the narratives of battles fought and won and longer days with those fought and lost. Thor, who could not spend more than an hour or so before restlessly drumming the tables, had once inquired why she chose to spend so much time there. "Someone has to," she had told him, "so that when you are king, you can win wars."

To Thor, war was the heat of battle and the challenge of besting an opponent - pride, bluster and skill. Sif knew better.

"Look, all I'm saying is that maybe we should -"

A short, disheveled man in some sort of tight-fitting, sleeveless shirt cut his words off as Sif entered the room.

"Oh. Hi," he said, brightening as he regarded her, his eyes running up and down her figure appreciatively. "Tony Stark. And you are the lovely Lady Sif. I'm afraid we didn't get a chance to meet earlier, when you, ah, swooned." He broke into a charming smile.

Sif's eyes narrowed, and she heard the distinct sound of a choked-off laugh. Fandral, no doubt.

"Ah, I mean fainted?" The man's smile faded, and he began to look as if he knew that Sif was wishing at this very moment that Frigga had let her out of her apartments with her sword.

"Swoon? I do not swoon," she said, drawing closer to the man and slowly closing a fist. She did not have a blade, but that did not mean she could not strike. How dare this man question her hardiness?

"Now you've done it, Shellhead," the man she recognized as the warrior who had carried the curious bow muttered resignedly. "Way to create a celestial incident."

Tony flicked an irritated glance at the other man before quickly backing up, his hands up in the air in front of his chest.

"Of course," he said quickly, smoothing on that appealing smile again. "Of course, you don't. My mistake. I, uh-"

He paused and then noticed that she was still moving toward him. The man with the bow was chuckling now, seeming to look forward to whatever punishment she planned to mete out.

"A little help here, Thor?" Tony Stark asked plaintively.

Thor, widely grinning, simply shook his head at Sif. She frowned back at him, and Thor raised an eyebrow at her. She considered ignoring his warning before stiffly dropping herself into her favorite seat, which was luckily not occupied.

Frigga would likely not let her out of her rooms for weeks if she was caught brawling with a strange man not fifteen minutes out of bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Marvel, not I, own the characters and universe.  
> 

Days later, the visitors from Midgard had still not decided on a course of action.

Tony Stark favored a try at rebuilding the Bifrost. The Lady Jane leaned toward what she termed a "shuttle" - the creation of a regular schedule of departures to and from Asgard from Midgard.

The older man who worked with the Lady Jane - Erik Selvig - campaigned for a decision to be made at a later date by "people above our pay grade." Tony Stark and the Lady Jane traded equal looks of disgust each time he mentioned it.

The archer had clearly lost interest in the debate once he realized on the first day that it would not coming to an end any time soon and spent most of his days in whispered conversation with Hogun over a pile of books on weaponry.

Sif, who had regained the color in her face at last and no longer needed to rest for an hour for every two she was out of bed, had long tired of the endless discussion.

Finally, after another three-hour discourse by Tony Stark on why they should attempt to rebuild the Bifrost – Sif believed the man was accustomed to talking until everyone gave in simply to quiet him – she had had quite enough.

"Loki!"

Everyone looked around the library in shock and - in the case of the Warriors Three, readiness.

Sif strode over to Erik Selvig, yanked him out of his chair and thrust an angry finger in his chest. She studied his eyes, wide in surprise, until - There. A flash of a green spark.

"Loki, if you make me sit through one more day of this inane bickering, I swear I shall -"

"You shall what, my lady?" Loki's lanky form melted out of Erik Selvig and floated lazily behind her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, and damn her heart for quickening. "You shall harm this innocent mortal man simply to reach me? My dear Lady Sif, I do believe you are bluffing."

She let go of Erik Selvig and spun around, eyes furious as she glared up at Loki. "Can they rebuild the rainbow bridge or not?"

Loki's mouth curved up into the exact infuriating grin he had often worn when he chose not to tell her the answer to one thing or another. ("How do you cloak yourself in shadows?" "How did you conceal those ants in Thor's armor?") He solidified long enough to reach behind her and irritatingly yank on her ponytail.

"That would be telling, my lady." Loki's eyes danced in amusement, delighted, as always, at her building fury.

She heard shocked gasps all around her and realized that she had been the only one to see him step out of the Lady Jane's companion.

"Loki!" Thor stood up, his face caught halfway between relief and fury.

Loki's hand flicked up in a quick, jaunty wave as his image grew even fainter. With the reflexes she had spent a lifetime training, Sif reached out and grabbed for him at the same time she muttered the only spell she knew.

Loki's eyes widened as his body abruptly took solid form again and stumbled.

"Well played, my Lady Sif," he said softly, his eyes burning her down to her core. "I didn't think you remembered that trick."

"I remember all your tricks," she answered in a low voice, stepping closer to him, ignoring the strangled sound coming from Fandral's chair.

Loki had taught her that spell near the beginning. It had been a game - he would fade in and out, caressing her, kissing her, teasing her, until she managed to catch him. And then they would finish.

"Do you, now?" he asked almost wryly, his eyes guarded.

He wrapped his hand around the one she held his wrist by and tugged her closer, yanking shadows around them with his other hand.

Sif's eyes widened, but she willingly stepped forward as the library broke out in shocked shouts, wrapping her other arm around his waist and closing her eyes to the darkness she knew was coming.

Two heartbeats later, the coldness dissipated and she could feel the shadows drip off them. They were in her rooms.

They were alone.

"And just what do you remember, my lady?"

Sif reached up with the arm she had wrapped around his waist to touch the side of his face - he was here, he was really here - before curling around his neck and pulling him toward her. She needed this; they both needed this. A deep voice in the back of her head reminded her that this was not a wise course of action; he was a traitor, and she should bring him immediately to the Allfather.

But his kiss was everything she recalled - heady and intoxicating as his scent filled her mind, her skin tingling where it met his body. As always, he tasted of spiced wine, wickedness and secrets.

She pushed him toward the bed until it met the back of his legs and he sat down, hard, pulling her along with him. Sif knelt over him, refusing to break their kiss. She kept one hand wrapped around his wrist, not wanting to give him the opportunity to leave just yet.

"Loki..." She moaned when his lips trailed down to where her shoulder met her neck. "Loki, my love..."

He stilled then, and Sif silently berated herself for letting her guard down.

"Sif - " he began, his eyes hard and dark. She silenced him by raising a finger to his lips. He didn't fight her when she replaced her finger with her mouth.

"Please," she whispered faintly against his lips. She didn't quite know what she was asking for, but a moment later, it didn't really matter.

* * *

"I am sorry," Sif said some time later.

She felt weak, but in a delicious way - sated and peaceful. She was wrapped around him, both of them burrowed under the dark furs piled on her bed. Sif almost held her tongue in fear of breaking the spell, but she was done skittering around the old hurt.

Loki merely arched an eyebrow and continued to trace circles along her bare hip.

She paused for a long moment before sighing, realizing he would not make this easy on her.

"I should not have left," she said at last. "I should not have…"

Her voice trailed off uncertainly. Loki could be so prickly, especially lately, and she did not want to offend his pride while trying to apologize.

"Thrown my gift away?" he finished dryly, his eyes again hard and distant. "Taken our daughter? Chosen my brother over me?" He fingers stilled and then fell away from her.

Sif struggled with how to respond. She had, after all, panicked to realize that her hair had blackened as her daughter had come into the world.

She had been certain that everyone would know about Hela, about Loki. The shock of it could have ruined so much. The heartbreak of Balder's passing had not yet faded, and Sif had feared the outrage that would follow if it was known that she had accepted the Odinson responsible for his death.

But she realized now that her reaction had given Loki quite another impression.

"I should not have made you think that I required such a treasure," she said finally. She lifted a lock of her still-dark hair and draped it across his chest. "I wear your mark still. Yours and hers, as always."

In public, she had blamed the color change on Loki - a charge that had the merit of being true, if not in the manner in which people took it. Her obvious fury with him furnished a ring of truth to the explanation until, soon, most had forgotten the two had scandalously ever been on friendly terms at all.

Loki lay utterly still beneath her, as far away as he had ever been from her.

"I traded much for that bauble," he said tonelessly. "All to bring back a foolish girl who wished only to trade swords with an enemy, who did not want to be a princess and a mother. Who still wanted to be worshipped and revered as a goddess of the earth, even as she played at war. I gave her everything she could ever desire, but she wished for everything I could not provide."

"You traded much for a bauble that would give you your trophy back," she corrected with a faint whisper, the old hurt stretching like the old, never-quite-healed scar that it was. "So that you could have a golden goddess of the earth who would worship at your feet, and not those of your brother."

She could recall the horror in his eyes as he ran his hands through her black hair, how he had refused to touch her in the days afterward. How he had cuddled their daughter and whispered secrets in her ear, only to leave when Sif entered the room. He had been repulsed by her, the mother of his child.

"I will fix this, my Lady Sif," he had told her before leaving their hideaway in Midgard.

"I did not wish to be fixed," Sif said, silent tears trailing down her face. "I simply wished for you to accept me, accept what we had wrought. For the two of us to simply be about us, and not about how much hurt you could cause others by loving me, how much mischief you could stir by making me love you."

She had been rocking Hela to sleep when he had returned from Svartalfaheimr and placed the comb in her hair. He had not let her take it out, spending the rest of the evening holding her, occassionally running his fingers through her one-again-golden locks.

Sif had crept out that night and returned to Asgard, leaving Hela with her brother for a few moments so she could rid her person of everything she had of Loki.

"I may have been a foolish girl, but you were an obtuse boy," she said softly. "I wished only for love, for your love. But I had no desire to be your possession."

Loki turned his head to stare at her as if he'd never seen her before. He tugged at her until Sif lay atop his chest, her tears dripping down upon him. Sif was shamed to see those tears - shamed to show such weakness - but perhaps it was time to stop pretending that nothing touched her.

"You thought -" Loki's voice hitched in a oddly vulnerable way. She knew that he liked showing weakness even less than she did. "My Lady Sif," he breathed, the words uttered without that familiar, hurtful bite for the first time since he had stolen their daughter back from her bed so long ago. "I wished only to take the fear from your eyes, to wash away your regrets. To make it so you would not one day decide I had been a mistake."

Sif could feel him take a deep breath. When she opened her eyes and looked down at him, she was almost fearful of how serious he looked.

"Despite my best efforts, you fled anyway. And after... I only wished to cause you as much anguish as I felt when you stole away with Hela," he admitted. "I despised you. I thought you would make her scorn me, too, and she was all I had left of us."

"I told her only lovely things about you," Sif said, leaning down to briefly kiss him. "About how you could make magic dance in your fingertips, how you played the grandest tricks, and how much we had loved each other. I told her you would teach her to melt into shadows and delude the eye into seeing what was not there."

Loki smiled, and it was one that finally reached his eyes. "She told me. And I did teach her both of those things."

She knew Loki had not had their daughter for long before Odin had discovered her; Hela must have been a quick study.

"I'm glad," she said softly, knowing that Odin had swiftly anointed their child the mistress of Hel and cast her out of Asgard. She had been too late; Sif had not expected Loki to attempt to hide their daughter in Asgard. She had been searching for them in Alfheim, where her brother had last seen him.

Sif had known the day would come - Hela had been quite insistent from nearly the moment she was born that her name was, indeed, Hela - but Sif had hoped it could be put off until she was fully grown.

A child should not have had to take over the realm of the dead before she had the chance to live a little.

Loki suddenly tilted his head as if listening for something and then flung one hand at the door in an odd, twisting motion. He brushed her hair back and cupped her face as he hastily told her, "Stark can rebuild the Bifrost. He is quick, that one; cleverer than any mortal ought to be. Have your brother speak with him; he still knows the ways of the bridge better than any Aesir possibly could. Tell Stark I shall leave some notes for him in his workshop. Once it is powered, you should be able to tap into it once more. But tell him to be careful with the cube - I'm not the only one with plans for it."

She could hear Thor bellowing on the other side of the door, and then it began to quake, the metal weakening where he was pounding it.

"But, Hela-"

Loki kissed her firmly. "Ask my mother about our daughter. She is not absent from Hel by choice. Bring her home, my lady. I fear I cannot bring company along the paths I travel, even one so clever as our Hela."

"I promise," she vowed as he began to grow faint. "I will not fail her," she whispered as she abruptly dropped to the bed, his body no longer underneath hers.

Thor and the Warriors Three burst into the room then, the remnants of Loki's spell on the door split and splattered on the walls and floor.

Their furious roars sailed over her as she lay there with a small smile, hope blooming deep inside her. The Bifrost could be fixed, her daughter would be found, and Loki was not lost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif is forced to have two conversations she really would have rather avoided.

Sif knelt before her king, head bowed and one arm crossed across her chest in salute.

It was a familiar stance; she had been before Asgard's throne many times. She had been presented at court, had been congratulated by her king for victory in battle, had seen her best friend named heir to the throne and even been strongly chastised for a costly loss on the battlefield. But she had never before been rebuked for hiding a traitor.

"No, my king, I had no prior knowledge of Loki's return," she said, purposefully leaving the "prince" off his name. "I would not have kept such a confidence."

Odin was silent for a long moment, but Sif forced herself to keep still with her eyes down. She was dancing along the edges of the truth, and she did not have Loki's skill at saying one thing while meaning another.

"How did you come to know he had possessed the Lady Jane's companion?" the Allfather finally asked her.

Sif's heart jumped at his phrasing; that the mortal was "the Lady Jane" to even the king meant much. Thor was the only one of the Frigga's three sons left; she would likely be "Lady Sif" no longer. She was almost startled at the sense of loss the realization evoked. She had never had any intention of marrying Thor, no matter what was assumed after Balder's death, but she had been "Lady Sif" since she had arrived in Asgard as a child. It would be strange to be simply "Sif" once more.

"Thor tells me you seemed quite certain in the library," Odin said, suspicion lacing his voice.

Sif flushed and forced herself to focus on her king's question. Her title and what it would mean was a matter to worry over at a later time, assuming, of course, that she was not returned to her parents in disgrace. She firmly pushed aside her worries, as well as the anger his tone awakened -- how dare he question her loyalty after all of the blood she had shed in his service -- and concentrated on keeping her voice even and firm.

"I could not tell for certain that he had done so, Allfather," she said. "I did not think it prudent to accuse the Lady Jane's companion unless I could be assured of my suspicions. I did not wish to sow distrust without proof. I..." and she faltered then, not quite sure how to explain that she only confronted the Lady Jane's friend because her temper had snapped. She had come very close to making an utter fool of herself, and she wondered why Loki had not let it come to that.

"I was frustrated and spoke in haste. I suspected Loki was there, but I did not know if what I sensed was truth... or simply what I wished to believe," she finished softly.

"What you wished to believe," Odin repeated thoughtfully.

"Yes, my king," Sif whispered, swallowing hard. She would explain if he asked it of her, but she would otherwise offer nothing more, not under the heavy weight of her friends' stares, and those of the entire court.

"Yet you know he was capable of possessing another?" Odin's flat voice gave no insight into his thoughts.

"Yes, my king. I have seen him make use of such a trick previously," she replied. "It was how he and I infiltrated Malekith's fortress when we rescued Brunnhilde in the second war."

She and Loki, both young and inexperienced, had nearly died that freezing night in Svartálfaheimr. But Malekith the Accursed could not be allowed to pervert a Valkyrie's powers to raise his fallen dark elf warriors. And so they had gone on a fool's mission in a last-ditch effort to keep Thor from a rash, head-on assault they would only lose.

Sif still bore a scar that sliced down her back and across her left hip; like everything else in that foul place, the blade had reeked of magic, designed to do more than merely tear flesh. She had been carrying her sister-in-arms and had twisted her body to take the brunt of the attack when a passing patrol had run across her and Loki. He had wrapped her and Brunnhilde in shadows, but the whole gambit had fallen apart when the patrol leader realized the guard Loki had possessed was not where he should be.

Bleeding, she had thrust Brunnhilde into Loki's arms. "Go," she told him, "and take her to Thor. You cannot bring both of us, but perhaps you can save her."

Sif had whirled to meet the swords behind them, ignoring his sputtered arguments. "Go, my prince, or we all three shall die here."

She had felt him vanish into nothingness behind her and then cut down three elves in her next breath, earning a black eye and three crushed ribs for her trouble. Sif had mortally wounded another with a wild thrust to his neck in the next breath, picking up a brutal gash across her sword arm. Just as Sif was thinking that she would see Brunnhilde -- or at least, one of the Valkyrie's sisters -- quite soon, she felt Loki behind her. There was a blinding flash of white light before he pulled her against his chest and turned her away from her attackers. Then she had felt cold blackness envelop them before he stumbled to his knees in their camp and dropped her, three arrows puncturing his back.

After, Sif had not been sure who Balder was more angry with -- Loki for nearly getting them killed, Thor for not listening to reason or herself for not talking sense into the lot of them. "The three of you," he had scolded her, "are a heavily armed disaster."

"There is something in the eyes, if you know what to look for," Sif told Odin. "And if you know him well enough, I suppose. I do not know exactly how to describe it; I have only see it a handful of times, and the last was very long ago."

The last time, Loki had peeked out at her from beneath his brother's eyes as he tried to steal kiss after a battle. Sif had never mentioned the transgression to Thor, and hoped her king would not ask her about the incident. They all already had enough bad blood between them to last until the end of time.

Odin was silent for another long moment before he finally shook his head. "Arise, Lady Sif. I do not believe you meant any harm, and I understand you did not wish to bring offense to our guests. But you should not have kept your suspicions from me -- nor your attachment to my son."

Sif's head snapped upward as his words sunk in.

"Yes," he said, seemingly amused at her expression. "As Loki is still my son, so shall you still be the Lady Sif. But your loyalty is to Asgard, not to him. Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, Allfather," Sif said. She knew that; why else had she gone to Midgard to bring back Thor? Like her brother, she was bound to Asgard so tightly she would never shake loose, and she was well aware of it.

She inclined her head at her king and withdrew, quickening her steps once she passed through the arching doorway. She did not like to think of herself as cowardly, but she simply did not have the strength to deal with the questions she knew were on Thor's tongue, not after this excruciating public conversation.

* * *

A short time later, Sif realized that she was not yet done with uncomfortable conversations. For once, she took care as she dressed.

She selected a gown based not just on how easy it was to move in, and even paid meticulous attention to what jewels would complement it. Sif wondered if the deep green of the off-shoulder gown was perhaps too obvious; she had never before worn Loki’s colors. But she could hardly have this conversation in the sky blue or crimson associated with his brothers. And perhaps obvious would be effective -- no one would expect subtlety from her, and this would go easier if the queen did not immediately expect confrontation.

She nervously adjusted the large blue and green opal that hung from her neck, unused to the delicate weight. It looked darker, somehow, against the forest green of her dress. Sif was tempted to change back into her more comfortable warrior's garb, but it seemed fitting to wear the pendant gifted to her for her pregnancy as she took her first step to bringing her daughter home.

"My queen?" she asked respectfully, pausing and dipping down in the doorway of Frigga's sitting room. "Might I trouble you for a time?"

Frigga looked away from her spacious window and smiled. "Of course, Lady Sif." Sif could not tell if there were hidden layers in that smile.

Sif nodded at her in return and then ran hesitant eyes over the queen's attendants. "Alone, my queen? I have a... personal matter to discuss." She felt her face flame as the other women turned toward her, some whispering amongst each other, all with a knowing smirk. By now, everyone likely knew about Sif and Loki; Volstagg alone had likely informed half the palace by now.

The flock left the room at Frigga's nod of dismissal, and Sif hesitated for half a moment before finally entering the room. She then deliberately closed the door behind her and moved to stand next to her queen, fixing her eye on a distant mountaintop.

"I was told," she began in a soft voice, "that you might know where my daughter has gotten herself off to."

She could sense Frigga tense up beside her. Sif held herself still, forcing herself to be patient. She had spent enough time with Loki to know how this was done -- insinuate, give something up, and then strike -- but Sif honestly had little patience for politics.

"I have seen her palace, and it is dark and cold, as if no one has lived there for some time," she continued. "I have seen her, and she is not in Hel, nor anywhere in Niflheimr. I know where she is, as do you. But you also know why your granddaughter is not home, and I wish to know this reason."

"Loki told his father her mother was a giantess," Frigga said after a moment, her eyes resting dark and silent on Sif.

"He would," Sif agreed, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued to gaze out at the landscape. Loki had once told her, "You and your sword are 20 feet high, and no warrior can ever touch you; not even I." It had been a joke after a battle, a way to relieve the tension they both felt after several near-misses, but she had cherished how he appreciated her prowess when many lovers would not.

"Odin thought it unwise to have such an enemy in a position of power, given her father's dealings with the frost giants.... And given that her father is the son of Laufey."

And this was why Sif did not play at politics.

She felt her heart skip a beat as astonishment vibrated through her body. She could not keep her eyes from widening, nor the slight sway in her stance as she desperately tried to catch her breath.

It explained much, she told herself. Loki's affinity for the cold, his innate connection to magic that no Aesir had. You are not surprised, she told herself firmly, as if it would lessen the shock. He was as different from the Aesir as she herself was. It explained much, but… It also meant nothing. He was the father of her child, and she loved him, despite -- maybe even because of, at least a little -- all of his many faults.

Sif swallowed and firmly grabbed hold of her composure, sliding it back on. But it was too late. She had given too much away, and both she and Frigga knew it. Maybe it was just better to approach this as blunt Sif instead of lady-of-the-court Sif.

"You knew I was her mother," Sif whispered. "You must have. Why would you -- Have you seen something that would allow you to let the Allfather banish our daughter? Because there is no reason why my daughter should pay for Loki’s misdeeds."

Frigga had the sight of prophecy but rarely shared her visions. And prophecy was the sort of thing that made little sense until after events had already unfolded; Sif trusted such visions very little after seeing how damaging their interpretations could be.

“I have not disclosed your secret, Lady Sif,” the queen said sadly, gently covering Sif’s left hand with her own. “I cannot allow my emotions to force a course of action; we both know that. I dare not attempt to shape events. And I cannot tell you what I have seen, nor can I tell our king. There is so much I do not see, and what is hidden from my sight never fails to be crucial.”

Sif nodded resignedly. Yes, what Frigga did not divine -- mistletoe, bravado and dares -- could be more important than what she could foresee. And what the queen had seen or had not seen.... In the end, it actually mattered very little. Even if Frigga spies a dark fate, would Sif really leave her daughter adrift?

"Do not look to me for answers," the queen said softly, lightly squeezing her hand. "As in war, you must do what is necessary. All roads, my dear, lead to Ragnarok, even this one -- no matter what my husband or my sons believe. Even the Allfather cannot rewrite destiny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** I'm doing a lot of blending of different elements from the comic books (why, hello there, Malekith) and Norse mythology (the idea that Loki fathered the goddess of death, who rules of Hel, which is in Niflheimr) to come with my own franken-mythology while still trying to keep to the movie canon - at least until all my work is invalidated by later Marvelverse movies! :)
> 
> But while I stole the ideas of Malekith (a Very Bad Man and the rule of the dark elves) and a valkeyrie named Brunnhilde from the comics, I don't plan on using a whole lot of their comic history. Same goes for Hela -- she's not an evil villainess, and her Hel is based more on mythology than the Marvel depiction of Hel.
> 
> To give you a brief idea of my story's timeline - we know from the movie that the Aesir defeated the frost giants and took the Casket of Ancient Winters in 965 AD. Sif came to Asgard some time after that - she is around the same age as Loki and Thor; perhaps a bit younger. In my story, Balder is the oldest of the three - Loki and Thor grew up together. Thor is the middle child, but was very young when Odin brought Loki home (and yes, believes that Loki is his biological sibling). Balder's death and Sif and Loki's relationship (and Hela's birth and later "promotion" to mistress of Hel) happened hundreds of years before Thor is banished to Earth. So yeah - there's a long, long history of hurt and miscommunication there.
> 
> Also, I've hinted at it, but I'm using the idea that Heimdall (and therefore Sif, who is his half-sister) is not Aesir but is Vanir. In this story, long before the war with the frost giants, there was a war between the Aesir and the Vanir, which ended with the Aesir essentially conquering the Vanir. Heimdall, Sif and a few other gods in Asgard (Freyja and Freyr, for example) are there by treaty. Put together what Frigga called Sif in this chapter ("Sif the Promised"), what Odin told her (she's still "Lady Sif") along with some of Sif's thoughts, and yes, her part in the treaty is exactly what you think is.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif makes a new friend.

Once the decision was made to rebuild the Bifrost, Asgard erupted in a flurry of activity.

The heavy forges in the craftsmen district of Asgard smoked for days as blacksmiths hammered out thin sheets of metal to Heimdall's exacting specifications.

The visitors from Midgard had departed after hasty, secret negotiations with the Allfather, only to return a short time later with a curious assortment of tools, charts and bulky boxes of materials.

Tony Stark had muttered irritably -- and at great length -- about gods who bypass A.I.-driven security systems, whatever that was, while he and the Lady Jane organized a large tent that Heimdall had directed workers to set up on the grounds outside the remains of the rainbow bridge. They hung large sheets of white paper with complicated drawings and star charts, several with notes scribbled in what Sif recognized as Loki's hand, on the walls and huddled over small boxes that lit up and flickered with figures and diagrams.

The two mortals had long, involved discussions with Heimdall about power sources, cosmic strings and spacetime that poked along the edges of Sif's understanding. Loki would have loved the discussion, and Sif felt a deep pang as she watched them.

But Sif had made herself scarce when they actually started hammering and smelting at the remains of the Bifrost. Each stroke left her feeling queasy and unsettled, as sour notes vibrated through her. It was worse if she wore her sword; then she felt as if Tony Stark was searing the insides of her stomach with each hit. Putting distance between herself and the bridge seemed to lessen the feelings, but she still felt on edge and distracted, the work rubbing uncomfortably on the edge of her consciousness.

She had left her sword behind at Heimdall's suggestion, deciding to work on the spear in the practice yards. It was a lovely day; the sun was out, but there was a nice breeze -- perfect weather for striking your best friends with weapons. Perhaps if she could just concentrate on something, she could free herself of the vague sickness that she could still feel in the pit of her stomach.

"Try this one."

Sif turned the corner just in time to hear a loud popping sound. Hogun and the archer who had again accompanied Tony Stark to Asgard were standing in the practice yard, a target set up at the other end of the yard.

“Notice the difference? Not as much kick,” the archer told Hogun, who was studying the black object in his hand.

Both of the men turned toward Sif as she drew closer, Hogun inclining his head in greeting.

The archer smiled at her and extended his arm toward her, his hand out. “Lady Sif? Hi, I’m Clint. I don’t think we’ve officially met. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Sif nodded at him but then hesitated, gazing down at his hand with a touch of confusion. She sensed that his gesture required some sort of response, but she was uncertain as to how to answer the greeting. Other than her trip to fetch Thor, she had not been to Midgard since her daughter’s birth. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” she finally said.

Clint abruptly yanked his hand back, then rake it through his hair. “Sorry,” he said as he flashed her another smile. “Earth, uh, Midgard habit -- we shake hands when we meet people.”

Misgiving started to fill her. Midgard had looked quite different during her last, brief visit than what she remembered from so long ago. Even in those long-ago days, she had only passing experience with mortals and knew little of their customs. But she would soon be returning to search for Hela, and she would need to learn such things.

“Shake hands?” she asked, holding out her arm in the manner he had.

He reached out and clasped her hand, firmly squeezing once. “Yeah, like this.”

She tentatively squeezed back, loosening her grip when she saw him wince. “Firm grip,” he muttered. He lightly clenched his hand open and shut once she released it, Sif noted. A lighter touch would be needed the next time, she thought.

She turned toward Hogun. “I am seeking a sparring partner, but if you are already occupied....”

“Clint Barton is demonstrating some of Midgard’s weaponry,” Hogun replied, showing her the oddly shaped black object in his hand. “This ejects a small bullet into an enemy.”

“It’s a pistol,” Clint broke in. He pulled another object from a sheath on his leg and handed it to her. “This one’s a Glock 19, ma’am.”

Sif turned it over in her hands. It was quite small for a weapon, certainly not something she would want on the battlefield. She was far more interested in seeing his bow.

“Ma’am?” she questioned, unfamiliar with the term.

“Uh...Lady?” Clint sounded uncertain, and Sif realized that he was using a title of some sorts.

“Sif,” she said firmly. “Formality has no place in the practice fields -- nor among those who have trained together in them.”

“You got it -- OK. Sif.” Clint regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. “You want to shoot it? C’mere.”

She let him move her into place as Hogun stepped aside, standing feet apart as he instructed.

“Now line it up,” he told her. “Keep a firm grip. Breathe in...breathe out. And squeeze.”

Sif could feel the bullet explode out of her hands, the accompanying pop ringing in her ears. As she looked at the new hole in the target across from her, she could feel a smile tugging at her lips.

She could do this all day.

Clint grinned back at her. “I’ve got more guns,” he promised. “And plenty of ammo.”

* * *

Sif, Hogun and Clint wandered into the dining hall hours later, dusty and excited, chattering about the various firearms they had fired until one one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting had arrived with a rather pointed message from the queen about the noise.

They had moved on to Clint’s bows after that, as well as a pair of peculiar, light swords that he said he was just learning to use. Hogun had a similar pair, but such blades were not ones Sif was accustomed to; she felt more comfortable with the heavy feel of one sword, not the twirling of one in each hand.

“Well, I don’t know too much about the manufacturing. That’s not really my area, although Iron Man -- Stark -- may have some ideas there. But one of your smiths might be able to reverse-engineer it enough to design your own handguns and rifles,” Clint told them. “I’ll have to see if I can find a book or something back home; send it back with Thor.”

Tony Stark noticeably perked up to hear his name, breaking off his conversation with the Lady Jane. But he shook his head at Clint as he caught the topic of conversation.

“Barton, I’m disappointed. You haven’t been talking shop with the Lady Sif all day, have you?”

Clint rolled his eyes in open irritation but laughed easily at the other man. “She’s a goddess of war, Stark. What else would we talk about?”

Tony Stark opened his mouth but then tilted his head thoughtfully. “OK, you may actually have a point there.”

“Besides,” Clint said took a hearty swig of mead. “Haven’t you ever been to Israel for one of your Stark Industries show-and-tells? There’s nothing hotter than a girl with a big-ass machine gun, Shellhead -- nothing.”

Tony Stark just blinked at that. “You got issues, Barton.”

“Better than having his issues,” Clint said to his companions with a shrug. “Anyway, you should really look at expanding some of your weaponry. If this rogue prince of yours can get into Stark’s place on his own, who knows what he has access to now. We got a lot worse than just guns back home.”

A frown creased Hogun’s forehead, and he met Sif’s gaze with a steady look.

“It would be unlike him,” Hogun said. “But I do not know him as well as I once thought.”

Sif pushed her food around her plate as she gave the notion some thought. She ignored the touch of hurt in her close friend’s voice, knowing that at least some of the sentiment was related to her relationship with Loki.

But it would be unlike Loki to make a direct assault with weapons such as those Clint had shown them. Indeed, he had already been back to Asgard at least once and could be here even now. Loki had so far had ample opportunity to move against Thor and the Allfather, yet he had done nothing.

“I do not believe weapons are the tricks we need to worry about,” Sif said. “He has shown he can appear inside the city whenever he chooses, and can cloak others attempting to breach our walls. We must counter his magic; that is what makes Asgard vulnerable.”

“Wait, what?” Clint halted his fork halfway to his mouth to look at Sif in disbelief. “He doesn’t need magic to break into this joint. I could sneak in here.”

Sif felt her temper jump at his casual tone -- how dare this mortal assume that Asgard was so weakly defended -- but forced herself to think it through. Was infiltrating Asgard really so much different than gaining entrance into Malekith’s fortress or the hundreds of other strongholds she and Loki had slipped into? They had often depended on his magic, but it had not always been necessary to do so.

“I mean, it’s my job to get into places like this, but it’s possible to hire guys like me,” Clint said with a shrug.

“He would not need to hire assistance,” Hogun said quietly. “He has his own experience in such matters. He would not have Sif, but....”

“I believe I could do it, as well,” Sif finally admitted. “Some of it is familiarity, true, but Asgard would not be the most difficult place Loki and I have infiltrated.”

That would be Zanadu the Mystic Mountain, home of the conqueror who had decimated Hogun’s people. And getting out had proved even harder than getting in.

“Wait -- so he’s trained to do this? You’re in trouble,” Clint told them in a low tone. “He could sneak a nuke in here, and you would never know what hit you.”

“A nuke?” Sif repeated the unfamiliar word.

“A nuclear bomb. It’s -- you know what? It’s not really that important,” Clint said. “You need to tighten up your security. And you need to figure out what he wants.”

Sif nodded in agreement; it was one of the first things she had learned in war. She knew Loki wanted the item that Tony Stark and the Lady Jane used to power their bridges to Asgard, but that wasn’t enough. In the end, Loki’s plans -- whatever they may be -- did not really matter. What did he want? If she could ascertain his objective, she could figure out how to deny him it -- if she needed to.

But first, they needed to figure out how to tell the Allfather that Asgard was vulnerable.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif and Clint storm the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can really be thought of as the second half to Chapter 5. The whole thing together was getting a bit long, so I split them up.

"You sure about this?"

Sif lifted her eyes up from the map spread across the table in front of them and looked over at Clint. They had been in the library since early morning, poring over maps of the city and surrounding countryside that they had marked with their observations from the night before.

"Because we're probably gonna in trouble for this," he continued. "I did this once for SHIELD and got nothing but shit assignments for over a year. The guys at the top don't really like it when you make a fool out of them, and I bet kings are even worse. I do this -- I get sent back home and maybe yelled at. No big deal. You… You're already in the doghouse for sleeping with the big bad prince."

Sif was not quite sure if she should take offense to his statement, although she could not deny the truth in it. She was the person same as ever, but Thor now studied her with a disquieting distance when he thought she was not looking. There was a coldness between them now, a taste of distrust where none had existed before, and it pained her.

"This must be done," she said him as she returned her attention back to the maps. "And I do not fear the consequences."

She had larger worries, and would have yet more when she found her daughter. Those would be consequences. This? Her actions tonight were the least of her concerns.

"OK, then," Clint said. "I just had to be sure."

Sif nodded in understanding; comrades in arms must have trust. If they were to do this together, he needed to be certain that she would not hesitate.

"'Cause I know you don't really think he's a threat," he added quietly. "He nearly killed your best friend, he betrayed your country, but you still see him as… Well, as the guy you're in love with."

Sif sucked in a surprised breath and slumped back in her chair, his words hitting her with the shock of a blizzard wind. Clint was the first to say it aloud, but Sif knew it was behind every word, every glance, since Thor, Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg had broken down her bedroom door. What Loki had done was unforgivable to so many, as always, and no one could understand how she could still care for him.

"Do you know what it means to be a god of mischief?" she asked after a long moment. "When your brothers are the gods of thunder and light, and loved by all? When tricks -- even those others find humorous -- do not win you devotion? When you lay the groundwork for battle that leads to victory but your brothers get the glory? When your eldest brother boasts that he cannot be slain, yet your arrow pierces his heart? When your other brother is given the keys to a kingdom he is not ready to rule? Jealousy is poisonous, and it blackens him even when he attempts to do the correct thing. And he has done much that earns him no love."

She thought back to the day when Balder had fallen, the day when everything in Asgard had changed for all of them. The sky was clear and perfect; Malekith had been utterly defeated, and it had felt so sweet to simply be able to sit in the sunshine and breathe instead of rushing from one cold battlefield to the next.

"Loki's actions are not his first unforgivable sin," she told Clint. "His brother died at his hand, and that stain will never wash away."

Balder had taken a poisoned blade to the neck in the last major skirmish of the war. It had severed an artery, and his blood had spilled out upon Malekith and the ground around them.

Sif had only taken two steps toward them when Thor's hammer swung past her head to sweep Malekith to the ground. Fire sprung up and engulfed him as he screamed. She had reached him by then and lifted her sword to take his head.

And then Balder had stood.

"Enough," he had said, in a voice that boomed across the battlefield. "You are defeated, Malekith the Accursed."

He had lived, he told her later, because nothing could kill him. "I dreamt of my death in this war, but my mother has assured my well-being. Now, my Lady Sif, you never need fear for me."

On the sunny, glorious day that proved him wrong, they had all roared with laughter as Balder dared them to strike him with an ever-ridiculous list of items. She herself had poured acid across his chest and watched it sear away his flesh only to see the wound close up as the liquid dribbled off his skin to burn the grass beneath him. Fandral had sent an arrow coated in poisonous berries through his heart, and Thor had swung a mighty boulder at his head.

And then Loki had plucked mistletoe from a nearby brush and carved it into a tiny arrow. It was so small a thing next to the greatness of Balder, and everyone had laughed merrily at the sight of Loki flicking it at his brother. It was so small a thing, hardly a weapon at all, but it had been the right thing.

"And so fell Balder the Brave, the god of light and peace," she finished.

"It was an accident," Clint said softly, his eyes troubled.

"An accident," Sif agreed, nodding. "But that mattered little. The Allfather spared his life, but could not mete out forgiveness. Loki has risked much in every war since to earn his father’s favor, yet nothing could make up for the loss of the bright prince. And now... Now, I fear he is on a path with no road home."

Loki took chances -- sometimes terrible chances -- gambling with his life and occasionally hers. And she had taken chances, too -- Sif the Promised was not supposed to pledge herself to the youngest prince. But even after the ugliness between them over Hela and Sif's foolish, stupid hair, she had not gone to Thor.

"Loki is many things, Clint, and some of them are ugly and hateful and malevolent, but he is not evil," Sif said firmly. "He could destroy us all tomorrow if he wished it. He can step between the realms without the rainbow bridge, and, as we will show, there is little to stop him from entering Asgard if he wishes it."

* * *

Clint edged a thin, flexible tube around the corner as she watched the small screen in her hands.

They had entered the city through a side gate and ghosted through the shadows until they neared the keep. Scaling the outer walls that edged the gardens was ridiculously simple; the vines and ivy could be sharp, but they also provided easy footholds. Sif and Clint had agreed on a side door near the guest quarters; it was not heavily guarded and, if you knew the palace well enough, provided an easy route to the tunnels they were seeking.

She watched the guards go down the hall and turn the next corner. Sif flicked the switch and replaced the box in a pouch at her waist and nodded at Clint.

On light feet, they swiftly crossed the hallway and headed for the stairs. They went up one floor and cut through a large, rarely used audience hall. Clint edged the tube around the doorway and, at her nod, moved around the corner to another staircase 50 feet down the hall.

Now came the trickier part.

At the foot of the stairs, a soft lamp high in the right corner illuminated a heavy door. Halfway down the stairs, she crouched down as Clint took careful aim at the light with his bow and shut her eyes.

She heard the lamp shatter, the noise cutting through the silence of the night. When she heard the door open, she leapt toward it, using her momentum to flatten the guard, her hand covering his mouth. Then Clint was there, sedative in hand, and that was one guard down.

The end of this hallway had two guards, both of whom went down to arrows tipped with the same sedative before they even noticed Sif or Clint.

Clint slipped the narrow tube -- the camera, he had called it -- under the next door. Sif watched as it panned the room and held up one hand with fingers outstretched, closed her fist and then held up two fingers. He nodded, and she motioned to the right and held up four fingers before tapping her chest and motioning to her left.

"Ready?" she saw him mouth.

She placed her hand on the door handle and waited for his countdown.

"One, two, three," Clint whispered.

She slid the door open a hands' width, and he tossed a small cylinder in the room. She shoved the door completely open after a loud bang rang out and took the guard to her left out with a snapping kick to the head. She plunged a sedative-coated arrow into the middle guard's chest and slammed into the third man. Sif heard the distinctive thwack of an arrow above her and glanced up to see one lodged into the man’s shoulder just an inch higher than her head.

Sif shot Clint a dirty look, but he just widened his eyes, a mischievous grin spread across his face.

Two more guards burst into the room, but then fell to two more arrows.

They were close now.

Sif and Clint ran out the door and down the winding hallway in front them, speed mattering more now than subtlety.

Two more guards, maybe three, left.

She heard Clint’s bow sing from beside her but fixed her eyes on the captain head of her. This one would be hers.

Sif drew the spear from her back and pressed the button that extended it. She flew at the shocked officer, knocking the breath out of him with her spear haft. "My apologies," she said as she covered his mouth and placed her fingers over a pressure point in his neck.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, Clint peered out the doorway in front of them, arrow nocked.

"Clear," he said.

Sif pulled one of the captain's eyes open with two fingers and studied it. She lightly slapped him across the face and then pinched his neck hard. Satisfied that he was out, she looked up at Clint.

"Clear," she responded.

Clint grinned at her, but he was shaking his head as he followed her inside the cavernous room. "Well, this was just too damn easy."

Sif glanced down across the room at the Casket of Ancient Winters. "I agree."

"Halt!"

Sif turned around and raised an eyebrow at the array of guards that had filled the room behind them.

"I think we got their attention," she told Clint with a laugh, adrenaline still pumping through her. She could see a smirk tugging at his lips, and knew he felt the same rush.

"Hooray," Clint muttered. "Now let's hope they don't kill us dead, babe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if anyone is curious, the Hawkeye here is definitely inspired by Ultimate version instead of the 616 version. I adore 616 Clint Barton, but the movieverse Clint certainly seems more like Ultimate one. Who I also love -- because what's not to love about a scarily competent badass who can turn anything into a weapon? Plus, Hawkeye-as-a-career-military-guy fits this story better than Hawkeye-the-reformed-villain.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif and Clint face the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have definitely not forgotten about this story! There is much more to come. Work has been busier than usual in the last month, and that has severely cut into my energy. I don't expect the next update to take quite so longer. I'm shooting for weekly (at least) updates on this.

Sif thought the chains were wholly unnecessary.

It was not as if she had taken anything -- and she had had ample opportunity to do so -- nor had she slain anyone. She and Clint had taken great care not to hurt any of the guards more than necessary; the dose of the sedative was nowhere near the amount she and Loki had used during their past excursions. The worst the guards should have would be a headache for a day or so -- and wounded pride, but that was none of her concern.

But Sif supposed it was could be worse -- she could be having this conversation in a holding cell instead of kneeling on both knees with her hands cuffed behind her back before the throne.

She could be having no conversation at all.

"Explain yourself, Lady Sif," her king asked her coldly.

"I was conducting a test of our defenses, Allfather," she answered evenly. "I found them to be woefully inadequate."

As Odin's gaze hardened, Sif suddenly remembered Clint's warning and thought that perhaps she needed to be a touch more diplomatic. She had never realized until now how much she had depended on Loki's silver tongue in situations such as this.

"You have broken your vows, Lady Sif. You took up arms against my guards," Odin said in a low voice that was far more terrifying than any bellow could be. "For the second time, Asgard's repository has been breached, and once more by someone who holds my trust. Tell me why you should not follow your prince's other adherents into exile."

Sif made an effort to bite back the mounting fury building inside her, but she feared her eyes still blazed up at her king.

"I have done nothing wrong," she answered tightly. "I simply wished to see how difficult it would be for Loki to breach our defenses if he wished to do so. We took care not to wound any of the guards too severely; indeed, it would have been easier to slay them. Yet we did not."

She and Clint could have shaved off at least half the attack time if they had aimed to kill.

"Or perhaps you were stopped before you could carry out your task," Odin countered thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are acting on Loki's behalf… Perhaps I am talking to him at this very moment in the guise of Sif the Promised."

Sif almost laughed. Did her king not know his son at all? Those guards would have been dead, and she would have been long gone before any alarm was raised.

"If either of those possibilities were true, my king, I would not be before you now," she pointed out. "If I had wished to evade capture, it could have been easily accomplished. I was mere steps away from the Norn Stones, and they have accepted both Loki and I before. I could have called them to me and shaped reality around me had I wished it. Yet here I am, before you in chains. I did not resist capture; you may ask your guards."

Sif had been the one to bear the Norn Stones out of Nordkeep to Asgard, and she had felt the touch of their presence when the guards took her into custody. It would have been a simple thing to beckon them to her hand and then… Then she would have been nigh near unstoppable.

It was why she and Loki had been tasked with retrieving the stones from the Norn queen during her aborted attempt at rebellion so long ago. They would not answer to all, but they did come alive to her touch.

Odin studied her for a long moment before turning his eyes on Clint. She was surprised, and perhaps a touch impressed, to see that the mortal did not flinch under the scrutiny. She knew battle-hardened warriors who could not bear that gaze.

He and Tony Stark were quite different from the men Sif met in her time on Midgard.

"Release them," the Allfather finally said, his face hard and impassive.

A loud clang rang out next to her before the guards could reach them, and Sif started at the sudden noise and jerked her head toward Clint. He rubbed his fingers around his wrists, the heavy restraints and their assorted chains lying on the floor in front of him.

He glanced at her, a small smirk dancing along the edges of his mouth. "What?" he said flippantly as he tucked a thin piece of metal into his handguard. "I don't like handcuffs. And I really don't like chains. I picked the lock on those damn things five minutes after they put 'em on me."

Sif was so startled she almost laughed until she felt a guard unlocking her own restraints and was abruptly reminded of where she was.

"But, you, mortal, are no longer welcome in this realm," Odin said in a booming voice, his forehead wrinkled with a hint of a frown. "You shall return to Midgard at first light."

Sif felt a stab of guilt at the brusque pronouncement. She had not intended to cause trouble for Clint, and she hoped it would not damage the ties Thor was attempting to build with the people of Midgard.

She parted her lips, ready to defend Clint, but she saw him shake his head at her fiercely. "Don't worry about it, honey," he said. "I kind of knew this was in the cards, but that didn't stop me. No reason for you to get into more trouble just because I have a habit of making poor life choices."

Yet, she hesitated still, the unfairness of it all still stinging.

"Really. It's fine," Clint said in an easy, collected tone Sif envied. "My choice, my price to pay."

She reluctantly nodded as he held her gaze, his eyes serious. "Look me up if you ever get to Earth," he said, the twinkle returning to his eyes as he rose to his feet. "I can't promise chains and midnight B&E, but I'm sure we can find something fun."

She listened to his steady tread fade out of the room, remaining on her knees as she waited for the rest of the footsteps to shuffle out of the room behind her.

There was an opportunity here, and Sif needed to seize it while she could.

"I wish to request an audience, Allfather," she said in a soft voice, keeping her eyes on the throne. Sif flicked her gaze up once at her king before bowing her head down again.

"An audience? No, not that, Lady Sif," Odin replied with a quiet chuckle as he rose from his seat. "Walk with me." He took her arm and led her across the audience hall and out onto the balcony.

The night sky shimmered with stars, and the city was quiet and still; a perfect moment.

"You wish to find him," Odin said in a musing tone. "He has nearly brought us all to ruin, yet you would search for my wayward son."

He did not look angry, Sif decided. Resigned, perhaps, and even a touch saddened.

"I..." Sif took a deep breath, willing herself to keep her voice even and smooth. "I would, Allfather."

Whatever he had done, whatever he would do... He was still Loki, and Sif could no longer pretend that there was nothing there.

"And so your choice has been made, Sif the Promised," Odin said, not precisely a question. But Sif thought she could see a hint of a smile hovering at the sides of his mouth, and she wondered at it.

"In truth," she admitted reluctantly, "There was never a choice to be made, my king." It felt oddly freeing to finally say the words, and Sif felt lighter on her feet than she had in centuries. There would be no Thor for her; like Balder, it had never even been a possibility, not really.

"I see," he said, and Sif was certain now that she saw a smile, however strange the notion was. "But you should have informed me of your decision sooner."

"Loki and I have not, we did not...." Sif stumbled over her phrasing, trying to express herself with truth, but not so much that would lead Odin to other realizations. "I have been angry with him for some time now, as all of Asgard knows. I did not... I believed I had time, that we had time."

Odin studied her seriously for a long moment, long enough that Sif had to stifle the urge to back away to put space between them. "And what was my son's offense that you would be apart for so long?"

"There was a betrayal," Sif said, knowing her king would read other meanings into her choice of words. She did not lie -- she and Loki had betrayed each other in so many ways, and betrayed their daughter. But the phrasing would hopefully lead Odin to a much different conclusion. "It is not important; I know this now. But at the time..." She shook her head. "It is of no consequence now, my king."

The weight of Odin's eye was oppressively heavy now. But Sif forced herself to calmness, feeling almost as if it was test of some sort.

"Consider your obligation to Asgard met, my dear," he said at last.

Sif blinked in shock. She knew the Allfather had accepted Thor's attachment to the mortal Lady Jane, but she had not anticipated this, not with Loki still in disfavor. Sif had assumed some ceremony would be needed first, some formal recognition of marriage.

"But as you are now his lady, I cannot allow you to remain in Asgard," he continued.

They were only words, but it was a blow as sharp as any Sif had received on the battlefield. She was surprised to realize how much Asgard had grown to be home.

"As king, I must ask you to leave. But as Loki's father, I ask that you reason with him," Odin said. "Loki is misguided and angry. He sought to wipe out Jotunheim -- for Asgard, for me, he says -- but I fear that what he does now is for his own ends. I do not know what his intentions are, but he cannot be allowed to drag the Nine Realms into chaos. My dear, you must be our child of peace once more."


End file.
